Dark Corners
by PenPatronus
Summary: Callen receives an envelope with a letter from some Russian mobsters and white powder they all assume is deadly. Sam, desperate to save his best friend, doesn't realize that his daughter is the one in real danger. Sequel to "Everything That Can Go Wrong" Team fic, bromance, hurt/comfort, adventure, tragedy. Densi, Neric Featuring G, Sam, Hetty, Eric, Deeks, Kensi, Nell CALLEN WHUMP
1. Will Go Wrong

**Summary: **When a pair of Russian mobsters kidnap two of Callen's friends, he "goes rogue" to take them on all by himself. Sequel to "Everything That Can Go Wrong." Bromance, hurt/comfort, adventure.

**Previously on NCIS Los Angeles**: In my story, "Everything That Can Go Wrong," Sam and Callen were kidnapped and tortured. They befriended their jailers - two orphaned brothers named Jake and Darren. What they thought was a run-of-the-mill Los Angeles gang turned out to be a school of sorts where street kids learned how to torture federal agents. The masterminds were two Russians. In the final scene, Callen admitted to Hetty that he knew them. When pressed for more information, Callen just said, "I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive me, Hetty…"

**Dark Corners**

PenPatronus

Chapter 1 of 5

**Will Go Wrong**

**Fifteen Years Ago**

Moscow weather is torture. The wind sneaks up sleeves, the rain penetrates coat collars, and the snow suffocates. There's no escaping it, no hiding from it. DEA undercover agent G Callen ruminated on this as he tied up a pair of Russian mobsters back-to-back in rusted metal chairs, and that did not improve his mood. Nazarov, a slim, stern-faced Russian man with salt-and-pepper hair, glared at his captor through cracked eyeglasses. "Can I offer you a vodka?" he asked, nodding his head at his own kitchen. "You look like a man who could use a drink."

"Where's Tracy?" Callen demanded through clenched teeth. He pressed his SIG saucer against the man's temple. "Where's my wife?"

"Is that her name? If I'd known you and the little bitch were married," he taunted in a low voice, "I still would've bedded her." Callen punched his gun against Nazarov's nose. "My wife just had the carpet cleaned," the Russian bemoaned as he bled onto his living room floor.

Callen scratched his chin through his beard and pivoted around to face the other Russian. Portnov was as slim as his companion but a head shorter with blond hair and muscular arms. "You're all show, all talk," he told Callen. "You think that if you just point a gun and say the right words you'll always win."

Callen switched his weapon to his left hand and reached into an open rucksack with his right. Slowly he took out hammers, knives and a blowtorch and arranged them so that both of his victims could see. "American agents aren't supposed to torture people," Portnov said.

"Says the man who tortured and killed a DEA agent just last month," Callen spat.

"I am a broken man," Portnov announced. "I see the cracks in your soul. It is splintered, but not broken. Only fractured souls are equipped to carve their name into a man's arm and hold a blowtorch to a woman's throat."

Callen leaned in close. "Where's Tracy?" he asked once more. "Where's my wife?"

"With a broken man," Portnov hissed.

Movement from the dimly lit hall. Callen fired his gun without thinking and Nazarov bellowed, "_Violet, no_!"

An unarmed woman carrying a basket of laundry stumbled into the living room. She was at least eight months pregnant – probably nine. Blood oozed from her stomach and mingled with her husband's. She collapsed at Callen's feet and stared up at him with terrified unseeing eyes. Nazarov shrieked swearwords in Russian and fought against his bonds so fiercely that the ropes bruised his skin. "My child!" he wailed over and over in Russian. "My child! My child!"

Portnov looked at Callen's pale, horrified face with a complacent expression. "Now," he said, "you are a man capable of torture."

A tear trickled down Callen's cheek and into his beard. "Yes," he agreed. "Yes, I am."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Eric Beale's body was an avalanche. It trembled so hard that the bullets in his gun rattled. Beads of sweat tumbled down his skin like falling stones as he ran, arms pumping, trying to keep up with Callen and Sam. He turned a corner at full speed and crashed into G at the foot of a steep staircase. "Oh – yikes – sorry," Eric sputtered. His too-large helmet slid down his forehead and knocked his safety glasses askew.

"Beale, shut up!" Sam hissed from halfway up the stairs. "You want to get us all killed?"

"Sorry!" Eric said. That was too loud, so he repeated it at a whisper. "Sorry…" Eric put his hands on his knees and wheezed.

"Hey, look at me." Callen took Eric by the shoulders and forced eye contact. "Take a deep breath."

"Can't – can't even catch my – breath…"

"Eric, do you trust me?" Eric nodded. "Take a really deep breath. So deep that your lungs start to cramp." Beale obeyed. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead and focused on his breathing. He didn't realize that his sight was slightly out of focus until the fresh oxygen restored it. A moment later his hands stopped shaking. "You good?"

"I'm good."

"Yes, you are," Callen said firmly. "You're doing fine, buddy. Now, let's go." Callen gestured for Eric to climb ahead of him up the stairs.

Sam stood in front of a frail white door with his gun held against his chest. Quick motions with his left hand told Eric and Callen that there were two hostiles in the next room. Relief made Eric shiver. Three against two were good odds. They would bust in, G and Sam would take the bad guys out and Eric could just admire them from afar like he was back at Ops. "Kensi and Deeks are dead. We're the only ones left," Callen reminded Eric. "It's up to us to eliminate the threat."

"I'm r-ready," Eric stammered.

"We're going to breach on three, all right? Shoot to kill."

"Shoot to kill," Eric confirmed.

Callen nodded at Sam and started the countdown. "One, two—"

At "two," the white door burst towards them. Two figures in black hoodies and ski masks emerged firing. Before Eric could blink, Sam took a hit in the chest and toppled onto his back. Callen bolted forward, sidestepped his partner's dead body and took out the first hostile with a pair of bullets to the torso. He aimed at the second and pulled the trigger – twice – but nothing happened. "My gun's jammed!" Callen shouted. Masked figure number two aimed at G's chest. The echo of the shot deafened Eric. As if from far away, as if watching the scene in slow motion, Eric saw the bullet slam into Callen's heart in an explosion of red. The momentum shoved him to the left and when he fell, face first, he landed right on Sam.

"_Callen_!" Eric yelled. His arms went limp. His gun flopped against his thigh – useless. The world shrunk until nothing existed but Eric's thundering heart and Callen's unblinking blue eyes. By the time he realized that he was next – just a second or two later – it was already too late.

Eric looked down at his own chest and saw red liquid splatter. "Dammit," he muttered.

The gunman swiped his mask off and raised his arms in victory. "Team Deeks wins!" Detective Marty Deeks shouted. "The crowd goes wild! Women are throwing panties, men are throwing… women!"

Lying on her back with Callen's Simunitions burrowed into her bulletproof vest, Kensi peeled off her own mask and asked, "Why isn't it Team Blye?"

"Cuz you're a loser," Deeks taunted, kicking Kensi's boot.

Sam Hanna wiped a splatter of red paint off of his face and then poked his partner in the ear. "G, get the hell off me."

"Sorry, I can't," Callen said with the slyest of smiles. "I'm dead."

"Dead men don't talk. If I have to move you myself, I won't be gentle," Sam threatened.

Callen made an extra slow show of lifting his body. Once on his feet he winced and rubbed his chest. "Landing on you was supposed to break my fall, not break my ribs."

"Abs of steel, baby," Sam said, drumming his fingers on his stomach. He took G's outstretched hand and climbed to his feet. "I missed the final showdown – what happened?"

"Everybody died." The team turned to see Hetty at the top of the stairs. She padded over to Eric and squeezed his arm. "But you're improving. You didn't drop your gun this time."

"Hooray," Eric said in a dry monotone. He sighed and rubbed his palms down his face.

Deeks stood on his tiptoes and wrapped his arm across Eric's shoulders. "Don't beat yourself up. I am a formidable warrior."

"Do you even know what 'formidable' means?" Kensi asked. She passed the boys and headed down the stairs.

"Of course I do," Deeks said as he and Eric followed her. "It means – it means awesome. It means super cool warrior dude."

"Yeah, that's the definition in the dictionary, Deeks," said Sam. "Super cool."

Hetty and Callen stayed behind as the rest of the group exited the Kill House. "So how did Eric really do?" Callen asked when they were alone. He put his glasses in his helmet and shrugged off his bulletproof vest.

Hetty fingered the gold broach over her heart. "He froze when you got shot."

Callen shrugged. "Not unexpected. That can happen when you're facing the bad guy alone."

"Hmm," Hetty hummed. "That could have been a factor, yes, but I think it was more than that. I think he was emotionally compromised."

Callen cocked an eyebrow. "How so?"

"He saw you die," Hetty said matter-of-factly.

Callen's other eyebrow joined the first. "He saw Sam die, too."

Hetty slowly pivoted. She folded her hands in front of her and sat down at the top of the stairs. Callen hesitated, then sat beside her. "Do you remember," Hetty began, "what Mo was like around Sam?"

"You mean the hero worship?"

Hetty shook her head. "It was more than admiration, Mr. Callen, it was faith. To Mo, Mr. Hanna was _bulletproof_."

Callen stared at his own shadow on the steps. "What does that have to do with Eric freezing in the middle of a shootout?"

Hetty slid her arm through Callen's and squeezed his elbow. "You don't realize what a role model you are to young men like Eric, Mr. Callen."

A brief, sharp laugh left G's chest. "Obviously Eric doesn't know me very well. If he knew my sins…" Callen shook his head sadly.

"I know your sins," Hetty said quietly. "Now, put yourself in Mr. Beale's shoes – or his flip-flops." Hetty and Callen shared a laugh. "For years Eric has watched your every move from Ops. He's seen you do things that would be impossible for anyone else to pull off. He's watched you survive more than any man should ever endure. Intellectually he knows you're not bulletproof, of course, but when he saw you go down… It was like all of the fight went out of him. You're his _hope_, Mr. Callen, and he lost it."

"Well…" Callen scratched an itch on his ear that didn't exist. "Maybe that's what Eric actually needed to learn today. I'm not invincible."

"Neither am I."

Callen rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Hetty, _I've_ been watching _you_. If anyone is invincible, you are."

"Do you feel that, Mr. Callen? That faith you have in me," she said quietly, "is what Eric has in you."

Callen looked at her. "Hetty… Was this Kill House for Eric, or for me?"

Hetty sighed deeply. Her exhale caused goose bumps to bloom down Callen's arm. After a minute of contemplative silence, she said, "I know that today is a very difficult… anniversary."

Callen's chin wobbled for a fraction of a second. "Because it's the fifteenth anniversary of the day I murdered a woman and her unborn child and tortured two men nearly to death to find my fake wife who betrayed me and left me for dead?" Callen's throat closed up and it took a moment to loosen again. "Those same men who came here six months ago, captured and tortured Sam and I and got a bunch of kids killed…" Callen dug a knuckle into one eye, and then the other. "Yeah, Hetty… it's a difficult anniversary."

"Mr. Callen," Hetty whispered, "we've all made mistakes and we all have regrets. When you see that woman in your mind's eye, I want you to replace her face with Eric's."

Callen snorted. "Eric would look ridiculous in that dress."

Hetty didn't smile. "Please," she whispered, "please remember all of the good you've done, all of the lives you've saved in the past 15 years. I have faith that their faces will light up the dark corners of your soul, Mr. Callen."

Callen squinted at her. "Eric has faith in me, and I have faith in you," he said. "Hetty, who do you have faith in?"

Hetty smiled the saddest of smiles, then used Callen's shoulder to help herself up to her feet. She walked down the stairs without another word.

"I _hate_ it when she does that," Callen muttered.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Sam's Choice

**Dark Corners**

PenPatronus

Chapter 2 of 5

**Sam's Choice**

It was nearly sunset that evening when G Callen's trigger finger punched "enter" on his laptop so hard he nearly broke it. The agent stood, raised his arms above his head like a referee signaling a touchdown, and called, "Sam, you won't believe this."

Sam Hanna didn't glance up from his own computer. "G, I'm seconds away from finishing this report. Hang on."

"You found that zoo cam where the monkey escapes into the penguin habitat, didn't you?" Deeks asked through a cheek full of popcorn.

Kensi sat on the corner of her desk and scowled at her partner. "Deeks, we're going out for dinner in ten minutes. Why are you eating?"

"I don't have to explain myself to you," he said with a smile and a mouth full of food.

"I finished my report," G announced. "In fact, _all_ of my paperwork is done."

Kensi Blye froze. She dropped the stick of gum she'd just retrieved from her purse and made a show of looking around the bullpen. "Callen, that's impossible. I see no flying pigs, the moon isn't blue and Hell has not frozen over."

Sam looked at his partner with the same stony stare he gave perps during interrogations. "G, for as long as I've known you, you have never been closer than a fortnight away from finishing your paperwork."

"Who says 'fortnight'?" Deeks wondered. He tossed a corn kernel at Sam and it bounced off of his bald head. "And in a sentence! Who says 'fortnight' _in a sentence_?"

Callen shrugged. "It's been a slow week - I've only been shot at twice, Deeks included. I think that's a record." G's smile morphed into a smirk. "You're just mad that I beat you in the paperwork Olympics for once."

"You didn't." Sam stood up. "I just finished mine, too."

"I don't think you're technically done until it's printed out," said Kensi. She winked at Deeks.

Sam and Callen shared a look. At some inaudible, invisible signal, both agents dove back to their computers, hit a series of buttons and then raced over to the waist-high printer in the corner of the office. Kensi followed. "First report that comes out is the winner!" she declared, and guarded the printer so that she would get it before them. Lights blinked, rollers spun and the printer spit one sheet into Kensi's open hand. "And the winner is… a monkey's ass?"

"Oh, sorry, that's mine." Deeks strolled between Sam and Callen and took the picture from his partner. "It's a screenshot from that video. Look, the monkey got stuck in a tiny cave. Thirty seconds later a penguin bit his tail!"

"Where's my report?" both Sam and Callen demanded.

"Over here," a new voice cooed. The foursome turned to see Hetty Lange sitting at her desk with two pieces of paper fresh from her own printer. "Thank you, gentlemen."

"Whose came out first?" Sam asked.

Hetty tried but failed (on purpose) to hide her amusement, and shuffled the sheets. "I'm afraid I didn't notice, Mr. Hanna." Sam and G groaned. Behind them, Kensi and Deeks tapped their fists together.

"Race you again next week?" Sam asked Callen as they returned to their desks. "Loser buys the winner a pitcher at the bar?"

"Loser buys two pitchers," Deeks declared.

"Three," said Kensi. "I want one, too."

Callen chuckled. Just then he noticed that a stamped envelope sat perched at the top of his inbox with the return address of the Secretary of the Navy. G grabbed a letter opener and, with his back to his teammates, ripped the envelope open.

White powder erupted from the envelope and showered Callen's face, neck, chest and arms, and all spread across his desk. He held his breath but particles were already down his throat. He shut his eyes but they were already watering, trying to flush the contaminants out.

"G!" Sam yelled, and bolted towards his friend.

"Sam, don't!" Kensi cried. She and Deeks intercepted him. "You'll just get poisoned, too!"

"Don't come any closer," Callen ordered. "Clear the building. Call hazmat." He held perfectly still – the others couldn't even see what he was holding.

Kensi grabbed Deeks by the elbow and sprinted up to Ops. A moment later a series of alarms blared. Agents and support staff alike started clambering for every exit. Callen put the envelope on his desk and turned to face Sam. "You better get out of here, partner, before they have to quarantine you, too."

"What's in the envelope, G?"

"Nothing. Just dandruff." Callen summoned his goofiest grin and swatted flecks of the white substance off his shoulder. The color had drained from his face and panic winked from behind his eyes.

Every line in Sam's face twitched. "Why are you lying to me?"

"I'm not."

Sam sighed. He looked down at his feet, and then took a step towards Callen. "What's in the envelope?" Sam walked forward again when Callen shrugged. "Every time you lie I'm going to take a step, G."

"Dammit, Sam, did you just take yourself hostage?" Sam's nostrils flared. He lifted one boot and Callen held up his hands in surrender. "A letter," he said. "Handwritten in Russian. And a picture."

"From who?"

Callen leaned against his desk. He stared at the floor and said, almost soundlessly, "Nazarov and Portnov. The Russians who kidnapped us."

"What?"

"And the picture is of those street kids who helped us. Jake and Darren."

"Oh, no."

"We should've tried to find them," Callen said. "Neither of us would've survived without their help."

"Mr. Hanna!" Hetty's voice called from the tunnel door. The whole building had emptied except for the two partners. "I suggest you join us outside."

Without breaking eye contact with G, Sam hollered at Hetty, "I'm staying with him."

Callen's face turned beet-red and his mouth opened and closed several times before he finally found the words. "Are you crazy?" he sputtered. "My eyeballs might explode any second!"

"I'm not leaving you, G." Sam returned to his desk, grabbed his chair and rolled it over. "I'm willing to bet that powder is nothing more than flour and baking soda," he said.

"You don't know that," said Callen. "You can't know that for sure – think about Michelle and the kids!"

"Buddy," Sam sighed, "I'm trying to avoid saying that I love you and won't let you die alone, all right? Don't make don't make me say it out loud. I'll blush."

Callen shook his head. "You realize you just did, right?"

"Don't drink my Scotch!" Hetty warned. The door thudded shut.

The two partners sat down side by side. G punched Sam's shoulder and muttered something inaudible at his own feet.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," said Sam.

"I said I love you, too, you crazy big stupid dumbass idiot."

Sam chuckled. "Read the letter."

Humor drained from G's face. "Sam, I… I told you that I knew those guys from the Cossack case, that their boss kidnapped Tracy and I interrogated them to find out where she was but – but I didn't tell you everything." Sam raised an eyebrow, curious. "Sam, there was a time in my life when I was really, well, Eric would say that I went Dark Side."

"Dark Side?"

"Evil, Sam. Evil with a capital E."

Sam gave G an "I doubt that" look.

"I'm serious, Sam." G started to fidget. "Fifteen years ago today I made a mistake that was so… so unforgivable that nothing mattered anymore. I lost myself. I didn't care what was right and what was wrong. Everything I did was for nothing more than pleasure and self-preservation. Sam… When Nazarov and Portnov took us and tortured me with hammers, knives and a blowtorch, they did that because – because that's what I used to torture them."

Sam couldn't hide his surprise. "You'd never do that, G."

"No, no I wouldn't. But back then I wasn't the guy you know. I was broken – very broken – thanks to Tracy. But thanks to Hetty I was whole again by the time I met you. Sam, you know how they say the past always comes back to haunt you?"

"Hey." Sam put his hand on G's shoulder and squeezed. "I know you. I know the kind of man you are and no matter what you did in your past I'm still going to sit here with you surrounded by toxic dandruff," he said with a quiet laugh. "It's all right, G. Just read the letter."

G unfolded the pristine white sheet of paper in his lap, cleared his throat, and began to translate:

_Mr. G. Callen, _

_My son could have been fifteen years old this week. I'd hoped that you'd have a child by now – a son I could strangle. But I am no longer a young man, and no longer patient. These two boys helped you escape. Now they will help me get my revenge. Find me or you will have their blood on your hands as well. _

_Come alone. Undoubtedly the distraction I've provided will give you the chance to evade your colleagues. I suggest you take advantage of that. _

_See you at midnight. _

_Your comrade, _

_Nazarov_

Sam scooped up a fistful of the white powder. He studied it, sniffed it, and licked it. And then he tossed it into the air, grinning, and watched it fall like snow. "Baby powder and laundry detergent," he concluded. "You knew your eyeballs wouldn't explode."

"But you didn't!" Callen reminded him.

"I recognized your "rogue" voice. You were planning on chasing after these guys all by yourself."

"You think so, huh?" G asked. "Got me all figured out?"

"Oh, I got you figured out." Sam suddenly snatched G's right hand and forced it open one finger at a time like stubborn flower petals. While Sam was distracted with the letter, G had retrieved a tranquilizer dart hidden under his desk. Sam tossed it into Callen's trashcan. "Don't you ever think about taking me out for 'my own good' again," Sam growled at his partner. "It ain't for my own good because it ain't for your own good. Don't push me away, G. Let's get these bastards together."

Callen sighed. "Ok," he nodded, "you win. But if you get yourself killed I'm never, _ever_ speaking to you again!"

* * *

><p>Hours later, Nell Jones was standing under the hazmat team's tent with Eric hovering over her like an umbrella. Hetty walked over with fresh cups of coffee for them both. "I just spoke with Mr. Deeks and Miss Blye in the boatshed," she said. "They have interrogated every member of the support staff and every mail man who might have even glanced at that envelope. They have no suspects at this time."<p>

"Anyone could have gotten the Sec Nav's stationary with some patient dumpster diving," Eric said. "They'd shred anything important, sure, but why bother with a blank envelope?"

"Clearly they need to bother," Nell muttered.

Just then a physician in a hazmat suit walked over. He shoved a clipboard under his armpit so that his hands were free to remove his sealed helmet. "Here are the test results, Miss Lange," he said, handing the paperwork to Hetty.

Nell grabbed Eric's hand so hard that it turned white.

A shallow sigh of relief from Hetty. "The powder in that envelope is completely harmless," she announced.

Simultaneous squeaks of happiness from Nell and Eric. The pair sprinted across the street burst through the office front doors. "You're all right!" Nell yelled the moment she was inside. "You aren't poisoned! Guys…?"

"Where are they?" Eric wondered, staring at the empty bullpen. "Callen?" he called. "Sam?"

A groan from the direction of the tunnel. Sam lay on his back on the cold floor with a tranquilizer dart in his thigh. "Oh my god, Sam," Nell gasped. She and Eric dashed over and helped him sit up. "What happened?"

"Where – where iz… where iz he?" Sam spoke with the slur of a heavy drug user. "I'm gonna kill him myself…" He grabbed Eric by the front of the shirt and shook him. "_Where's G_?"

**To Be Continued**


	3. Broken Men

**Dark Corners**

PenPatronus

Chapter 3 of 5

**Broken Men**

**Six Months Ago**

Callen watched the scratches in the cement floor go by in a dizzy whirlwind as he was dragged from the dock by a pair of bickering teenage boys. "You think Papa will let us ride in one of those underwater scooters?" the youngest asked the oldest in a hopeful voice.

"I bet he'll let _me,_ but not you!"

The boys dragged Callen over a threshold and dumped him, face down, in front of two pairs of black leather shoes. After the boatshed exploded, after he tackled Sam into the water to douse his burning clothes, after being snatched and drugged and taxied around Venice beach in an underwater scooter, Callen had neither the strength nor the motivation to see who wore those shoes.

One foot kicked out and rolled Callen onto his back. The movement shook loose the seawater still pooled in his lungs and he started to cough. His clothes were soaked wet with saltwater and Callen caught the distinctive whiff of rotten clams. No cell phone or weapon remained in his pockets.

"You've aged," a familiar gravelly voice said in Russian. "And you've healed."

Callen blinked past the stinging saltwater in his eyes and squinted up at the two figures leaning over him like giants.

"You are no longer a broken man. What cured you? A woman?"

"Not the woman you're thinking of," Callen croaked. The two faces came into focus. Nazarov – slim and stern, salt-and-pepper hair, wearing the exact same broken eyeglasses. On his left, Portnov – short, muscular, blond. "How did you find me?" Callen asked.

Nazarov started to pace around him. "That implies that we lost track of you. You misconstrue patience for ineffectiveness."

"My mistake." Callen wrenched his elbows under his back and forced himself to sit up. "Where's my partner?"

"Right there." Portnov pointed at something behind G's shoulder. Callen turned to find a small, fuzzy, black-and-white television that said "Live Feed" in the corner. It showed a prison cell the size of the NCIS bullpen, and an unconscious Sam Hanna handcuffed to a pipe.

G climbed unsteadily to his feet and approached the TV. Sam was injured, but not fatally. What he needed more than anything was aloe for the burns. "What happened all those years ago," Callen said, "what I did to you… has nothing to do with him. If you brought me here to kill me then do it, but let him go."

Suddenly Portnov and Nazarov grabbed G and forced him to sit on a rickety metal chair. They tethered him to it with rope and bungee cords and barbed wires that scratched his skin. Nazarov rambled, hot breath in G's ear, as he worked. "I _will_ be the death of you. That is a promise. But first I will do to you what you did to me. Torture, yes. Imprisonment, yes. But more importantly, Agent G Callen, you will see me shoot someone you love. You will watch him die at your feet."

Callen opted for honesty. "Shooting your wife was an accident. It was a mistake, one I will never, ever stop regretting. If I could—"

Nazarov silenced G with a punch across his jaw. "We were mere storm troopers in the Russian mob," he hissed. "We did not deserve what you put us through."

"No, you didn't," Callen agreed. He spit blood onto the floor. "Nobody does. And like you said, I've been cured. _I am no longer a broken man_."

Portnov took a blowtorch out of a toolbox. "Unfortunately for you, _we are_."

Callen shrunk away from the flames. "Torturing me won't make you feel better. I know."

"Broken men feel nothing," Nazarov growled. "I do not expect to feel any better or any worse. We do this for justice. Justice for Violet, and for my child."

"Him I understand," Callen said to Portnov while cocking his head at Nazarov. "But you – is this just loyalty to your partner? Working for almost fifteen years to find me because of another man's wife. Why?"

Portnov's nostrils flared. "This man's wife," he said at a hissed whisper, "was my sister."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Deeks and Kensi broke half a dozen laws as they sped from the boatshed back to the office. What they found inside was an extremely grumpy Sam Hanna lying on the couch with Hetty, Eric and Nell hovering over him. "Is G with you?" Sam asked when Kensi and Deeks joined the group. He tried to sit up but Hetty put a hand on his chest and guided him back down.

"No, why isn't he with you?" Kensi demanded.

"Don't ask," Eric warned.

"Nazarov and Portnov are behind this. We think Callen's going after them alone." Nell held up the handwritten letter. "He must know something we don't because there's no meeting place in this."

Hetty suddenly snatched the paper out of Nell's hand, leaving behind a shallow paper cut. Her eyes flitted down the page once, twice, three times. "Mr. Hanna," she said, "Mr. Callen read this to you – he translated it?"

"Yeah."

Hetty sighed. "I'm afraid he did some creative revising. There most certainly is an address here. Among other things…"

"I'm gonna kill him," Sam muttered for the hundredth time.

"Where are they meeting?" asked Deeks. Hetty told him and his eyes lit up with recognition. "I know that place. It's Clearfield, the mall. I went there all the time when I was a kid."

"The mall shut down five years," Kensi said. "It's completely abandoned."

"Sounds like the perfect place to set a trap," said Hetty. She looked at her watch: 11:26pm. "We have half an hour to get there and it's 45 minutes away. No time to call in a squad – no time to grab anything but guns – looks like the six of us are going after him ourselves."

Eric raised his hand like a school kid. "Even – even me?"

"Especially you, Mr. Beale."

* * *

><p>Callen knew it was the ultimate insult to drug his best friend <em>and<em> steal his car, but he wanted his very last drive to be in the Challenger.

G was a block away from the mall when an ambulance came speeding from the opposite direction to a small crowd gathered around a bus stop. Curious, and doubting coincidence, G pulled off to the side of the road and retrieved binoculars from the glove box. His heart plummeted when he recognized the unconscious woman on the ground.

"Vitals are good," Callen overheard the paramedic say when he rushed across the street. "One puncture wound in the neck. All right, let's get her on the gurney."

Callen put his body in front of the paramedic, demanding his attention. "What hospital are you taking her to?"

"You know this woman?"

Callen flashed his badge. "Her name is Michelle Hanna. Her family – where should I tell them to find her?"

"What do you know about her health? Any allergies?"

"She's in perfect health. Allergic to latex. And pineapple. She was drugged?"

"Looks that way." The EMT told him what hospital, then insisted that he step aside. Callen stayed at Michelle's side as long as he could. His stomach was eating itself up with anxiety. If Sam had just left when that powder burst from that envelope, he would've been home to prevent this. Now his wife was drugged and – G knew without question – his daughter was being held hostage in that mall.

G Callen had no son for Nazarov to strangle, but he loved Sam's ten-year-old like a daughter.

"I'll find Nicole," Callen whispered to Michelle before she was out of sight. "I'll save her. I swear I'll save her."

The ambulance left and the crowd followed a few minutes later. Callen left a note for Sam on the Challenger dash, loaded up on weapons and supplies and marched to the mall. He did three laps – looking for ways to get in and out, noting anything that could be used as a weapon, calculating how long it would take to run from one section of the mall to another and checking for wires and explosives. Precisely at midnight he unsheathed his gun and walked into the only entrance that wasn't boarded up tight: the food court. It was triangular, and three corridors branched off from it. Upended dirty, rusty tables and chairs were scattered around, some piled against a still merry-go-round. The glass elevator that led up to the second floor and down to the first hung precariously from only only cable. Two escalators, as dead as the merry-go-round, flanked the elevator.

When it was open and thriving, Clearfield mall was known best for one thing: the _gigantic_ 2-story aquarium. A glass tube of water 2 stories high and twenty yards wide stood in the center of the food court. It used to house a variety of fish, reptiles and crustaceans. People came from miles around not only to shop and eat fresh seafood, but also to watch the flocks of polka-dotted jellyfish. Children loved to run around the third floor. It was glass, and completely see-through, so they could look straight down into the tank. Now curtains were wrapped around the glass – curtains that were nothing more than blue tarps. The tank should've been emptied and dried five years before but G could smell the water in it. The Russians refilled the tank – but why?

A pair of overhead lights hanging from the domed ceiling suddenly burst alive and illuminated the room. Levers were pulled, hooks unhooked, and the dusty tarps clothing the tank slowly crumpled to the left to drape over one of the escalators. "Dammit," G whispered at the sight waiting for him. "_Dammit_."

"Uncle G!" 10-year-old Nicole Hanna screamed when she saw him. "_Uncle G, help – help_!" Adrenaline surged so hot and so fast through G's body that he thought he might fly. Nicole wore jeans, a long-sleeved green shirt, and her black hair in a tight braid. The clever girl, the daughter of a Navy SEAL, had kicked off her shoes. They must have been weighing her down as she tread water inside the giant fish tank.

"Baby girl, I'm coming!" G shouted at her. "I'm coming for you!" He sheathed his gun and sprinted up the rickety escalator.

Two steps from the top he came face to face with a pair of guns. Portnov and Nazarov sneered at him. "I'm afraid that the two boys were not very good swimmers," Nazarov said to Callen. "In fact they couldn't swim at all – I suppose no one ever taught them. Oh, well."

That hot adrenaline in G's veins boiled over. "You didn't have to kill them," he spat. "There was no reason to – _none_!"

"Now, this little one, she's a swimmer." Portnov gestured at Nicole with the barrel of his gun. "She's been floating in there for an hour! Must be tired, the poor thing. Must be very tired."

"G—" Nicole coughed on a mouthful of water. Her brown eyes were lidded with exhaustion and her limbs, though they moved, rowed slowly. While her right leg kicked, her left leg hung limp. G wasn't sure if it had cramped up or if she was just rationing her strength but either way, she was weakening by the second.

Callen ripped his jacket off and tossed it over the edge of the escalator. He took out the SIG in his pocket, the one sheathed in his pants and the third one latched around his calf. He tossed everything aside – including his phone the bobby pin on his belt loop. "I'm unarmed," G told them. "I'm here." He spread his arms out like wings. "You have me. This is over. I'm not even going to fight back. Let her go and kill me. I don't care anymore – I don't even care – just let Nicole go!"

Nazarov's eyes lit up like Christmas. "Good," he whispered. "Very good. You do love her like a daughter. You truly do." Tears stung Callen's eyes. His throat swelled like he was having an allergic reaction. "Tell you what. I will give you something you never gave me. A chance to hold her before she dies." Nazarov lowered his gun.

Callen bolted up the rest of the escalator, ran towards the open hatch in the glass floor and dove into the water. He came up under Nicole's body, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders. Simultaneously she went limp and burst into tears, every square inch of her body shaking from a combination of relief and terror and fatigue. Nicole had a long slim neck, wide cheekbones and a tiny round nose that she pressed against G's neck. "I got you, I got you," Callen whispered to her. "I got you, baby girl." Callen kicked his feet as hard as he could so that Nicole's whole upper body stayed above the water.

A minute passed. Nicole caught her breath and wrapped her arms around Callen's neck. "Uncle G?" she sniffled.

"Yeah, baby?" Callen gasped, breathless. He'd been trying to find them a way out but the water level was so far below the hatch that he could never hope to reach up and grab it. The smooth, slimy walls were three inches thick.

"I wish my dad was here."

"So do I." G hugged her tight and kissed her cheek.

A bullet whizzed past Nicole's neck and pierced Callen's shoulder. It was a large slug, a slow slug. Guaranteed to not exit Callen's body and punch a hole through the glass. G bit his lip to keep from screaming into Nicole's ear. He looked up and watched Nazarov and Portnov sit down by the hatch. With their feet dangling and their guns in their laps they looked like a pair of fishermen on a pier.

G rotated his body, turning his back on the guns and, in the process, completely shielding Nicole's body with his. Nicole started to cry again. She squeezed Callen's neck to tight he could barely breathe.

The water blushed red.

**To Be Continued**


	4. Hanna, N

**Dark Corners**

PenPatronus

Chapter 4 of 5

**Hanna, N. **

The six of them fit in Kensi's car only because Nell sat on Eric's lap. Sam drove with Hetty in the passenger seat and Kensi and Deeks in the back with Erik and Nell between them. "Turn left, Mr. Hanna," Hetty ordered when they exited the highway.

"Hetty, that isn't a road."

"No, it is not. It's a stone path that used to lead to a militia house and on to a park adjacent to the hospital. Back in 1983 the building was donated to the Girl Scouts – oh!" Sam took the turn at full speed and Hetty lost hold of her own train of thought. They reached Clearfield ten minutes earlier than expected. Good timing for their rescue mission, bad for Eric who had been counting on those minutes to, as Sam would say, get his head in the game.

They parked thirty yards from the food court entrance and hit the pavement running. Someone spray-painted a neon yellow "X" on the cement, and Sam stopped on top of it. One branch ended with an arrow that pointed to the right. "Callen says to go this way," he said. Sam picked up the pace, leading the rest of the team halfway around the west side of the mall. He stopped when he spotted another arrow, this one pointing at a maintenance door. "Here we go," Sam said. Deeks opened the door and the group raced inside, weapons raised.

The faint light at the end of the hall failed to illuminate the debris on the floor. Eric tripped over every brick and shoe. "Do you… do you smell saltwater?" Eric whispered to Deeks.

"If there are still fish in the aquarium they've probably mutated by now. Tentacles, lasers—" They all heard splashing somewhere ahead. "Fish monsters!" Deeks whispered.

"Calm down, Shaggy," Nell said with a fond smile. "See anything, Daphne?" she asked when Kensi reached the end of the hall and peeked around the perpendicular corridor.

"Oh no," Kensi gasped.

Hetty and Sam tiptoed over to two humanoid forms lying under a tarp outside a derelict toy store. Sam crouched into a catcher's position. He grasped the edge of the tarp with two fingers but didn't pull. After half a minute of staring at the curtained bodies he stood up, stepped aside and turned his back. Hetty marched forward and yanked the fabric off.

Five sighs of relief told Sam that Callen wasn't under that tarp. "It's the boys from the photo," Hetty announced.

"Jake and Darren," Nell whispered. "Poor kids…"

Kensi knelt beside the bodies. "I don't see any fatal wounds," she said. "It looks like they… drowned?"

"What the hell?" Deeks muttered.

"So if the hostages are dead," Eric whispered, "where's Callen?"

Sam's hands trembled uncontrollably for a full five seconds, and then he took a deep breath and regained control. "Let's move," he said, and led the way towards the source of the light.

"I don't want to be Daphne," Kensi whispered to Nell as they jogged. "Daphne sucks."

"Sarah Michelle Geller's Daphne didn't," Nell reminded her.

"You can't be Fred or Scooby," Deeks insisted.

"Who's Fred?" asked Kensi.

"Callen," Nell decided.

"Who's Scooby-Doo?" Eric asked.

Deeks, Nell and Kensi all said, at the same time, "You."

* * *

><p>Another bullet. This one missed Callen's neck by an inch. "Oh, god," he whispered. He lifted Nicole's knees and folded her into a tight fetal position. After unwrapping her arms from around his neck and guiding her hands to grip the front of his shirt, every inch of Sam's daughter was shielded by Callen's body. With his left arm useless from the bullet and the right cradling the tiny ball that was Nicole, Callen stayed afloat by his legs alone. Kicking spread his blood throughout the giant tank, turning the whole thing food-color pink.<p>

"Lousy game," one of the Russians said to the other. Callen had neither the energy nor the desire to try and tell them apart with his back turned. "Shooting any part of him above the water is too easy."

"So, what, aim for the legs?" Russian number two asked.

"A hundred points if you hit a leg. 200 for a foot, 300 if you shoot the girl."

Nicole whimpered. Her fingernails dug half-moons into Callen's chest. "Sam's coming – Daddy's coming," G whispered to her. To the Russians he said, "My team will be here any minute if they aren't already!"

A bullet whizzed past G's knee. It hit the glass but failed to pierce it. "You still don't understand our commitment to your slow, agonizing death, do you?" Portnov asked.

"We have no desire to survive this," said Nazarov. He fired his weapon. It nicked G's right hip and the water blushed a shade redder.

Callen screamed.

* * *

><p>The team counted three male voices coming from the food court ahead. They were trying to determine the best way to look at the scene – crawl under the escalator? Dive behind a table? Go up to the second floor and peek around the dangling elevator? – when Hetty noticed that the reflections in the dome windows.<p>

"Mr. Callen is treading water in the aquarium," she reported. "He has another hostage – looks like another child. Two hostiles. Two weapons."

Suddenly one of those weapons went off. They all recognized Callen in the cry of agony that echoed through the room. There was no time for a plan. No time to wait for backup.

Sam led the stampede up the escalator.

Callen passed out for a couple seconds. The combination of inhaling water and Nicole pinching his cheek woke him back up. Nazarov and Portnov must have thought it was the climatic moment of Callen's death and they both jumped to their feet. At that moment four voices shouted "_Freeze_!"

The two men were content with death until the guns were pointing at them. Portnov started shooting wildly in every direction. He took off at a dead run for an abandoned clothing store with Kensi and Deeks on his tail. Nazarov fired as well but then hit the deck and aimed his gun at Callen's head, determined to finish what he started.

Sam barreled into Nazarov and pancaked him on top of the aquarium, just above G's head. He looked down, caught his partner's eye and then – for the first time – his daughter's. "Dad!" Nicole sobbed. "_Daddy_!" Surprised and shocked and stunned, Sam let his guard down just long enough for Nazarov to smash an elbow into his face. Sam rolled, recovered enough to knock the gun out of Nazarov's hands, and the two men started to wrestle.

Sam's steps disturbed the aquarium hatch. It fell and would have sealed if Nell hadn't dived forward and gotten her finger under it in time. She trained her weapon on Nazarov then, but he and Sam were two close to get a clean shot. Eric appeared at Nell's side. He wasn't the best shooter or fighter, but he knew his strengths. Right then his strength was his height. He was the tallest – longest legs, longest arms. "Callen!" he shouted into the aquarium. "_Callen, swim_!" Eric lay flat on his stomach and reached through the hatch.

Swimming the twenty yards to the hatch was, at that moment, G Callen's ideal Hell. He knew with the clarity of the religiously devout that he couldn't make it. "Nicole," he gasped, barely audible over his strained breathing. "Baby, I need you to help me swim, all right? Just kick your legs. Just kick hard."

Nicole obeyed. She uncurled from her fetal position, summoned what remained of her own strength and, together, they thrashed through the water. When Callen got closer he called up to his teammates, "Take her and go!"

Eric withdrew his hand a few inches. "Callen—"

"She's – Sam's – _daughter_!" G gasped. "Eric, the second you have her topside you run – you run like hell and get her – get her to safety!"

Eric's voice broke. "I'm the only one who can reach you! I won't leave you to drown!"

"Please!" Callen begged. "Then come back. Or the others will – will find a rope or - just get her safe, Eric, promise me!" G and Nicole reached the hatch and started treading water directly under it. "_Swear to me_!"

The intensity, the passion, the resoluteness in Callen's eyes persuaded him. "I swear," Eric said, and he had never meant anything so decisively in his life.

Callen turned his attention to Nicole. "Remember when you were just learning how to swim," he said to her, "and we would play mermaid? Remember?" She nodded her understanding. "That's my girl. On three, all right? One – two – three!" Callen dunked his head underwater, grabbed Nicole's waist and then started kicking with everything he had left in him. He lifted Nicole out of the water and then threw her straight up. She spread her arms out and then drew them together with the grace of a synchronized swimmer. Eric grabbed her left hand and she wrapped her right fingers around his wrist. Nell sheathed her weapon and helped Eric pull and pull and pull until Nicole collapsed, exhausted, onto "dry land."

"Go!" Nell yelled, and Eric was already underway. He threw Nicole over his shoulder and ran as fast as he could across the floor, down the escalator and out the door.

"Dad – G – Dad!" Nicole screamed. Her adrenaline surged and she beat Eric's back and begged him to take her back to Sam.

A car squealed into the mall driveway. Eric recognized it – or at least hoped he did – and concluded it was moderately safer to face the driver rather than the homicidal maniacs inside. "Good timing, Scrappy-Doo!" Eric shouted when Owen Granger exited his still running car.

"Beale? I got Hetty's text – what the hell is going on?" Granger demanded.

"How far behind is backup?"

"Ten minutes. Beale, I asked you a question!"

Eric suddenly dumped Nicole Hanna into Granger's arms. "Lock her in your car and shoot anyone who comes near."

"What?" Granger staggered under the 10-year-old's weight. Water dripped down the front of his tailored suit. "Beale!"

"Just do it!" Eric turned around and sprinted back inside.

* * *

><p>Portnov dove over the cash counter, barely dodging Kensi and Deeks' shots. The two agents slowed down. They approached the counter from two sides, both intending to take the Russian out the first chance they got. But then Portnov emerged with a pair of machine pistols. With nothing to hide behind but a headless manikin, Deeks and Kensi dashed back out the way they came in. A hellfire of bullets chased them.<p>

"_Deeks_!" Kensi screamed when a bullet went straight through the detective's calf. He lost his footing, but she found it, and held him up, and they kept running. Eric had just gone through the door and Nell was standing guard over the hatch, watching Nazarov and Sam wrestle on top of the aquarium and waiting, impatiently, for them to separate so she could take the shot. Bullets soared past Nell but she held her ground. She probably would've stood there forever if Kensi hadn't grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her, along with Deeks, behind the hazardous, drooping elevator. They slid under a fresh wave of bullets, and Deeks shoved the girls face down on the floor and covered them with his own body. Weapon's fire shot up the elevator. Portnov was marching fearlessly forward. Another five or six steps and he would have Kensi, Deeks and Nell right in his sight.

The crack of a single bullet seemed to freeze time. Portnov noticed something red in his peripheral vision. He looked down, curious, and saw blood like a waterfall leaking from his chest. Staggering, the guns falling from his hands, Portnov turned to see who had shot him.

At some point in all of the excitement, Hetty Lange went over to the dead merry-go-round on the second floor and climbed all the way up to the top of the sombrero-shaped roof. She didn't blink or lower her gun as Portnov glared a thousand daggers at her.

In the final seconds of his life, Portnov managed to do three astounding things. First, he fished a silver key out of his pocket. Second, he tossed that key through the hatch. And third, when he finally collapsed he ensured that his body fell on the hatch door – closing it, sealing it.

Sealing G Callen inside.

The key to that hatch – the one and only key to that hatch – sank to the bottom of the aquarium.

"_Bugger_," Hetty spat.

Eric sprinted back into the food court just in time to see Portnov fall, Nazarov cry out in grief and Sam end up on his back with the insane Russian pounding every inch of his face. An emotion surged through Sam like an adrenaline rush – that feeling of "I've had enough" and "time to end this." Sam grasped Nazarov's wrists with steel hands, wove their legs together and just started to roll. Colors flashed by: the dark ceiling, the silver windows, the peach walls, the red water, blue eyes… The second that Sam felt himself start to fall he released Nazarov's body and grabbed the edge of the aquarium. The Russian tried to take Sam with him when he fell but couldn't quite get a grip on his clothes. He was dead when his body hit and shattered against the mall floor, two stories down.

As Sam hung from the glass by his fingertips, bullet-time set in. Everything slowed down. Most of his mind was focused on Nicole's safety and on keeping his grip before he joined Nazarov, but the part of his brain that burned hot and fast and desperate forced his eyes to find G.

And suddenly Callen was there – there because he wouldn't be anywhere else even if he could. G hovered behind the glass in front of him, treading water, his face barely above the surface. Foolishly, Sam let go of the edge and pressed his right palm against the glass. Callen did the same on the other side and, for a few moments, the two partners were suspended in time. Reaching – each desperate to grab and save the other from death – hands mere inches away, but that distance might as well be a million miles.

Callen looked at Sam and shook his head ever so slightly, so… apologetically. Sam's eyes went from dry to a flood as he witnessed G use up the last of his strength and lose the last thread of consciousness. He passed out. His head slid underwater, and he started to sink.

"_**G**_!" Sam screamed.

**To Be Continued**


	5. Super G

**Dark Corners**

PenPatronus

Chapter 5 of 5

**Super G**

Large hands wrapped around Sam's wrist and yanked him back on top of the aquarium. For half a moment he fought back. Callen's limp body was sinking and part of Sam wanted to drown with him. It was Eric who saved him but there was no time for a proper "thank you." Sam sprinted over to the sealed hatch, shoved Portnov's body aside and started pounding on it with both fists. He vibrated the rose-tinted water but the glass didn't crack. "Should we try to find a sledgehammer or something?" Kensi asked, appearing over Sam's shoulder. Deeks limped up beside her with Nell.

"Anyone have C4?" Sam asked.

"We could shoot the glass. Hit it with every bullet we've got," Deeks suggested.

"That will just turn the aquarium into Swiss cheese," said Nell. "It'll drain but not fast enough. He'll – he'll be dead by the time it's empty."

"We have to hit this with something heavy," Sam said, punching the glass again, "and we have to do it _now_!"

"Uh…" Deeks' brow furled tight. "A car?"

In one enormous breath, Eric Beale said, "Oh my god I have a terrible idea that will probably get Callen killed but we have no choice!" Eric told the team his plan and they all gaped at him with wide eyes.

"That's as bad as throwing a grenade in the water!" Deeks snorted.

"Like the man said, we have no choice," Sam conceded. The team ran to the elevator and aimed their weapons at the single flimsy steel cable it still hung from. It was only fifteen feet away but it was thin, and most of the bullets whizzed past it and shattered the windows of the dome ceiling. As shards of glass rained down on them, Sam, Kensi, Deeks, Nell and Eric didn't run for cover, didn't even blink. They just kept shooting. Bit by bit the bullets chomped away. With the noise that sounded like some combination between a slinky and a spring, the cable finally broke. The elevator started to slide down.

"Push it!" Eric yelled. They all dropped their weapons, hunkered down like football linemen, and then charged, shouting, straight at the metal doors. It was like trying to bend a tree trunk. Like trying to move a car with the emergency break on. But with gravity's help, they managed to shove the structure forward.

The Clearfield mall elevator toppled forward and _**smashed**_ into the aquarium. Glass exploded. Steel crumpled. A tsunami of water and blood erupted with the force of a broken fire hydrant. Stray food court chairs and tables were knocked over. Abandoned rugs and bricks and any other debris got swept up in the waves. Water moved so hard and fast that it tossed open the front doors and the merry-go-round slowly rotated with Hetty still perched on top of it. Sam kept his eye on G's body for as long as he could, but Callen disappeared in the massive soup of water and glass.

The agents sprinted down the escalator and waded into the rushing water. The water was initially up to Nell's waist until it started to drain through cracks in the floor and out the door. She clung to Eric like he was a deeply rooted tree. "Spread out!" Sam ordered. "Find him!" Outside the distant sirens hollered in beat with the red and white lights of the approaching LAPD.

Nell found him. She tripped over Callen's body floating face down in the water. "_Sam_!" she shrieked. "_Over here_!" Nell got down on her knees, wrapped her arms around Callen's back and yanked up until his face was out of the water. His eyes were closed and his mouth hung open. His pale skin was so cold Nell felt like she was hugging a snowman. "Callen, wake up!" she sobbed against his white cheek. "_Callen_!"

Sam moved so fast he practically walked on top of the water. He wrapped his arms tight around Callen and squeezed, punching his partner's stomach with his fists in the Heimlich maneuver. Liquid dribbled out of G's white lips, but there was no inhale. "Turn a table over!" Sam cried. Kensi and Deeks found the widest rectangular table and wiped all of the glass off it. Sam slipped his left arm under G's knees and his right arm under his spine. He stood, cradling the limp body against his chest, his cheek pressed to Callen's cold forehead, and carried him to the table. The slurping sounds started. Nearly all of the water had finally drained or settled into shallow pools.

"Oh my god," Kensi gasped at the sight of Callen's body – mutilated by broken glass, by bullets, by fatigue. His soaked dark jeans and shirt were torn and slashed. What really shocked Kensi were the bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip. Not the fact that they were there, but that they _weren't bleeding_. "His heart isn't beating!" she cried.

Sam put Callen on his side on the table and pounded on his back. More water trickled out. Once Sam was sure that was all that was coming, he rolled G onto his back. "Starting CPR," he choked out. "Nell, breathe for him." Sam placed his hands over Callen's chest, straightened his arms, locked his elbows and started the compressions. Nell sealed her mouth around Callen's and forced air into his lungs. She tilted her head so that she could see his chest rise and fall.

Hetty climbed down from the spinning merry-go-round and appeared at Sam's side. She watched – expression slack, shoulders slumped, eyes moist as Sam and Nell worked. They went through two rounds of CPR. Three… Four…

"Mr. Hanna…"

"_No_!" Sam barked. He kept pumping.

Five…

Nell saw the resignation in Hetty's face. "Oh god no," she whispered. She started to back away from the table, awkwardly, like a newborn deer just learning to walk. Eric rushed to her, grabbed her, held her. Kensi and Deeks held hands as they watched, helpless.

Hetty wiped the back of her hand across Callen's cold cheek. His skin had a blue tint to it. She was playing tug of war with a sob in her chest, but it won – burst out – when she grasped Sam's elbow and said, "Mr. Hanna… It's too late."

"_**No**_!" Sam's cry echoed through the whole mall. "_G, come on_!" he shouted, and grabbed his best friend's blue-gray face between his large calloused hands. "_**Come on**_!" he screamed – and then whispered, "_**Please**_…"

Nothing. The longest, thickest, heaviest silence settled over the group. The only sound was dripping water.

Sam crumpled to one knee. His forehead landed on Callen's heart and stayed there. G's body trembled from the force of Sam's sobs.

_Drip_…

Water dripped.

_Drip_…

Tears dripped.

_Drip_…

Blood dripped.

_Blood_!

Kensi saw it first. Maybe her gaze never left those bullet holes. She saw it – the fresh drops of blood flowing from Callen's wounds. Blood that could only be moved by a _beating heart_. "_Sam_!" she cried.

Sam twisted his head and pressed his ear against G's chest. No audible beat, at least not one he could detect, but he felt Callen's heart the same way you can feel a train coming by touching the track. Again he took G's face between his hands and leaned in close. "Almost there," he whispered. "Not done yet, G. Breathe – _breathe_!"

A crescendo of gurgling, bubbling hiccups and gasps rose from Callen's weak lungs. That inhale hovered at the peak of its climb. Everyone else held their own breaths, waiting.

And then a geyser of a cough-puke-exhale erupted from Callen's body. His body stiffened and Sam wrenched him up into a sitting position. Callen's chin rested on Sam's left shoulder and, as if he was burping a baby, Sam pounded on his back to help the water, the air, and the blood spill out. The tiniest, briefest inhales occurred sparingly between violent bouts of coughs and it was several minutes before Callen took a breath any deeper than a gasp. At that point his body started to tremble.

Callen was shivering, limp in Sam's arms, fighting for air and, suddenly, to everyone's knee-rattling relief, _conscious_.

"Sam, I'm c-cold."

"Oh my god," Sam whispered, digging his face into Callen's neck, "I thought I'd never hear your voice again, G. I really thought this was it…" Callen found the strength to gently pat his best friend's arm. "We're going to get you warmed up," Sam assured him. "And stitched up, and patched up, G, and you're going to be fine. What do you need right now? The paramedics are coming with—"

"Sam?" Callen whispered through chattering teeth.

Sam eased Callen's body up a few inches off his shoulder so that he could look him in the eye. "Yeah?"

"Just hold me." Callen's half-lidded eyes stared at him. His lips formed the phrase again as he said, mute, "Just hold me…"

"I will," Sam said. "I am. I got you, G. I got you."

* * *

><p><strong>9 Days Later<strong>

Callen sat up in his hospital bed, looked at the stapled pile of papers in Sam's hands and chuckled at the title of the "book." "Super G?"

"I'm in there, too," Sam said, collapsing into a chair beside the bed. "So are the others. You're the only one with a cape, though."

"I'd look fantastic in a cape."

"You do look fantastic in a cape, see?" Sam opened the first page. It featured not much more than a stick figure in a superhero pose with his fists on his waist. An imaginary wind rippled up a bright red cape with a gold "G."

"For Uncle G, my hero," Callen read aloud. "Love, Nicole. Aww…"

"She refused to go to bed last night until she finished it." Sam flipped through a few pages. "This is my favorite part." He held the picture up for Callen to see.

G squinted at the drawings. "Is that - is that Deeks fighting robots?"

"Who else would have that hair?"

Callen settled back into his pillow. "Well go on, Dad, read me that bedtime story."

"Maybe later," Sam chuckled. He set the book on top of a massive pile of "Get Well" cards. "Look at you. This is the most coherent you've been since that night. I need to take advantage of this."

"Is it?" Callen mumbled. He took a long, deep breath, relishing in the sensation of air in his lungs. "We talked when you were here yesterday."

"G, you dozed off after five minutes. Do you even remember our conversation?"

Callen squinted and scrunched up his nose into one vertical wrinkle. "Uh… sports? Cricket, maybe? Water polo? Water Quiddich?"

Sam shook his head. A laugh rattled around his belly. "Those meds are giving you some weird dreams, G."

Callen didn't disagree. "Well, what did we talk about that's so important?"

Sam's face shifted into serious mode. "We talked about you saving my daughter's life. You almost died – you _did_ die for her, G, and I'll never, ever be able to express how grateful I am for that."

Callen shifted uncomfortably under his blankets. "Nicole and Michelle never would have been in that situation if not for—"

"We're not going there," Sam stated with finality.

"Yes, sir."

"I mean it. G, you saved my baby girl. I love you for that. So much." Sam reached out and gripped Callen's hand. "Thank you."

Callen gave him a tired half-smile. "Love you, too, partner."

Sam spotted sleep starting to fog up Callen's eyes. "We're going to have to have this same talk tomorrow, aren't we?"

"No. I'll remember." Callen took a deep breath and relaxed his body. He reached out and snatched Nicole's book. "This lights up the dark corners." He held it against his chest like a child with his favorite teddy bear.

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Dark corners?"

"Something Hetty said," Callen explained. "Imagine the faces – faces like Nicole's – and they'll light the dark corners of your soul… God, I hate it when she does that." The two partners shared a laugh.

Sam sat in the hospital room and watched G fall and stay asleep. Once in awhile he dreamed. His body tensed, twisted, and his hands formed into fists. When that happened, Sam sat on the edge of the bed and gently uncurled Callen's fingers. His presence seemed to calm Callen, seemed to chase away the nightmares.

Sam meditated on that as Callen slept, and decided that was who he would always be. Other faces would light up G Callen's dark corners, and Sam Hanna would guard them with his life.

**The End**

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_If you missed the prequel to this story, it's called "Everything That Can Go Wrong." Also check out my bromantic / hurt-comfort stories from other fandoms like Teen Wolf, Sherlock, Merlin, Harry Potter, Bones, Stargate, etc. _

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